Death Becomes Her
by MasterKaycee
Summary: A young Volgirre struggles to prove her worth to the Ivory Tower.
1. Chapter 1

Arielle climbs from the back of the SUV, giving nary a glance at her ghoul's former property as it pulls away from the curb. Firing off a text message, she leans against a lamp post, impatiently turning the envelope Jericho gave her over in her hands.

Remy spots his mistress standing under the street lamp. The light makes her appear momentarily ghost-like. The Toreador's visage shows normal once she enters the hearse. The overhead light exposing flushed cheeks and bright eyes...quite lively for the undead. She settles into the passenger seat somewhat awkwardly as the ghoul smirks at her. "Not used to driving shotgun?"

Arielle flutters her hand at him. "Just drive, Remy."

Arielle opens the envelope once the hearse starts moving. She studies it's contents for a moment before giving a resigned sigh. "Well? Did you at least get what you came for?"

Arielle folds the note, placing in her pocket. "I've received no more or less than I expected to." A wistful sigh.

"Do you want to pick it up now?"

Recognizing the address in the note, she contemplates the likelihood of what she wants actually being behind the door. "No. Not yet." Disappointment is barely hidden in her words. "I doubt it's there. I can't imagine any of the council allowing it to stay."

"So, the Gargoyle lied to you?"

She ponder this. "Perhaps. Maybe he didn't know it would be moved. More likely, he was playing a game with me."

The ghoul tries to gauge his mistresses feelings. "What are you going to do, now?"

She shakes her head in dismissal of the question. "Nothing. Jericho had no reason to keep his word, I have no reason to retaliate. Besides, he makes a better ally than enemy." R

emy pauses, seeming to choose his words carefully. "Why don't you just make one yourself?"

Leveling a glare at her ghoul, Arielle replies: "Several reasons, Remy. One, my talents aren't quite that extensive.." she smiles, briefly. "...yet. And two, I'd rather not mutilate he living, given a choice."

"But you wouldn't mind coming into possession of something someone else has mutilated."

"What's done is done, regardless who created it." she replies, testily. " That was...a stunning work of art. Personally, I don't know why the -victims- were complaining. Their bodies could of been nothing more than rotting flesh and wasted bone. Someone took the time and effort to mold them into something more beautiful than most could ever dream of. Alive or dead."

The ghoul strives to make a point. "Then why don't you just..."

She cuts him off. "It's not in my line of work to harm the undeserving. Not when there's more than enough dead to work on." Both parties are silent for a moment.

"I didn't realize morticians were sworn to the Hippocratic Oath." Remy says, with a hint of humor. The Toreador rolls her eyes, but a smile flickers across her lips,

After a more drawn out silence, she speaks. "Don't head straight home. I'd like to stop at the studio. Pick up some supplies so I can work on Grendel's...rat." Arielle fails to hide the disdain on her face.

"Yes, m'am." Remy replies, fighting the urge to snicker.

She glares at him. "Don't give me that look. It's a favor for the Seneshal. Even if it's no true test or showcase of my talents, perhaps it will aid me in falling in his good graces."

The hearse stops in front of a nondescript building. Arielle slides from the passenger seat, as Remy slyly speaks at her retreating form. "If this isn't good enough, you can always sleep with him. That seems to work well."

In a blur of movement, the Toreador is back at his side. She wraps her hand around his fingers, a mischievous and slightly cruel grin on her face. His smile quickly falls to a grimace as her grip on his hand increases from pressure to pain. "Whoa, Ari...I was just..." he gasps a bit. "Joking! Do no harm, right? Right?" He flinches, but she releases her hold on him. No spilled blood or broken bones, but the ghoul's fingers seem fused together. Warped and misshapen. He looks at her expectantly as she once again exits the car.

"I'll fix that when I get back." she says, as she slams the door on his shocked face.


	2. Chapter 2

It's a few hours past sunset when Arielle finally returns to her haven. Home for the first time since Elysium, the Toreador seems exhausted, less than her usual, radiant self. Slinging her belongings onto the nearest table, she kicks her heels off and sinks onto one of the antique couches. Her expression is one of far off contemplation.

The ghoul, hearing his mistress return, enters the sitting room. "Good to see you've managed to stay alive another night." Remy says, not without bitterness.

Arielle audibly sighs, propping her chin upon her hand. "Need I even mention my lack of eagerness in having a conversation with you?"

Quite used to her sarcasm, Remy is determined to speak his piece. "Obviously someone needs to bring up the constant tango you've been dancing with death lately."

She pinches the bridge of her nose, irritated, knowing this subject won't be dropped. "Please, Remy - since it's clear I haven't been living my own life - inform me of such things."

His devotion to his mistress is true enough that her lackadaisical response is a source of distress for the ghoul. "It's bad enough with the half mad Gargoyle and that beast of a Nosferatu you insist on being so intimate with, but now the entire Camarilla knows of your bloodline! No amount of money was worth putting your secret in the open like that."

Too weary to lash out, Arielle levels a penetrating stare at the ghoul. "Do you really know me so little to think it was the money that lead my hand?" Remy opens his mouth to retort, but quickly closes it as a look of realization comes to his face. "The children were crafted to look like the woman's deceased daughter. Can you perhaps figure why I took such an assignment?"

The ghoul looks ashamed. "Ari, I'm..." The Toreador waves a dismissive hand, the distracted, contemplative look returning to her features.

Remy is torn, wanting to rage at his mistress further for her unwise decisions, but perceptive enough to realize her mind is tumultuous. She unconsciously rubs at the ragged impression of large jaws on her pale shoulder, just one of a number of bites and scratches on her otherwise flawless skin. It's then that the ghoul notices the lack of color in her normally flushed pallor, the bruise like circles under her bright green eyes. "Ari, when was the last time you fed?"

She doesn't answer right away, chewing her lip distractedly. "Before Elysium...I believe." Sitting up and catching a glance at her reflection in an ornamental mirror adjacent to the couch, her eyes seem to focus a bit, taking in a chalky death-like appearance. She seems entranced by the sight.

A blur of movement and the sound of a cabinet opening and the ghoul returns. After a moment, Remy breaks her concentration. Placing a glass of dark crimson liquid in her icy hands, he urges her to drink. "Drink this, I'll call one of my classmates to come by." It isn't a question, and Remy is up and on his cellphone before Arielle can respond. She brings the glass to her lips, halfheartedly, but drinks the liquid with gusto once it passes her lips. A facsimile of color creeps into her cheeks, which pleases the ghoul when he returns to the room, snapping the phone closed. "Fifteen minutes, tops. Maybe don't gut this one?" His shot at humor goes unnoticed by the Toreador. He keeps quiet, wisely.

Three quarters of an hour later, Arielle is fed and the art student leaves, dazed by alive. She preens in the mirror, but her expression seems almost disappointed in the blush of health in her cheeks. Taking a seat once more, she traces her fingers along the intricate woodwork of the couch's frame. Speaking somewhat stiffly, she manages a hint of gratitude towards the ghoul. "Thank you for your action in negating my personal negligence."

Remy is almost impressed by the attempt at appreciation, but emanating his mistress, gives a dismissive wave of his hand. "It's my job." The concern in his eyes belie his words. Arielle resumes her glazed eyed staring until once more interrupted by the meddlesome ghoul. "Something is on your mind, Ari. It's obviously something you aren't sharing with either of your lovers, why don't you tell me what's gnawing at you?" His eyes tick to the bite mark on her shoulder, now healing. "Figuratively gnawing, that is." She rolls her eyes, and the ghoul is relieved to see a hint of her usual attitude. There's a pregnant silence, which Arielle finally and somewhat begrudgingly breaks.

"I wish to...that is, I've been pondering going back home for a spell."

Remy looks at his mistress inquisitively. "Home, as in Fairfax?"

She nods, and his expression becomes troubled. Before he can share his opinion on the subject, she continues. "Not permanently, or even long term..." Arielle shudders, as if unable to bear the thought of leaving her city for that long a time. "There's something I wish to retrieve, for nostalgia's sake." There's something in the Toreador's face hinting that perhaps this isn't the most kosher of ideas.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Ari? I can't imagine what you need from there other than..." He trails off as a realization comes to him. Knowing his mistress too well, he raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment. "Well, I suppose you know your desires best. Shall I stock the car with appropriate grave-robbing instruments?"

Arielle seems surprised at her ghoul's willingness towards her idea. A flash of guilt crosses the Toreador's face as she thinks on her often cruel treatment of the ghoul. "I can go alone, Remy. I don't wish to drag anyone along on this likely precarious mission of mine."

Remy is set on accompanying his mistress. "If you didn't wish it, you wouldn't of mentioned it. Perhaps that's why you didn't mention this to the Nosferatu or the Gargoyle?"

Arielle attempts to look perturbed at her ghoul's perception, but is secretly pleased. "Perceptive enough to pick up on such things, but not wise enough to hold your tongue around those that could rip it from your mouth." She shakes her head in mock disgust. "That's my Remy." There is an air of temporarily settled differences between the two, as Remy rises wordlessly to prep the hearse.

Not too much later, both Toreador and ghoul are on their way to Fairfax, Virginia. Arielle, taking advantage of the momentary peace, chatters away about her exploits with Mr. Azreahl, Jericho and many of her new found allies. Remy listens, and manages to resist childish reactions to her words. Arielle checks her phone a few times, and glances at the ghoul. "We should indeed make this a quick trip. Sooner or later someone will be wondering where I am." She seems pleased by the prospect.

"Hopefully it won't take Mrs. Olivia Norton much convincing to bring back to Baltimore."


	3. Chapter 3

The pony-tailed ghoul sits in the driver's seat of Arielle's hearse, 90's grunge playing quietly from the stereo. At the sound of the passenger side door opening, he glances to his mistress. "Ready to go, alrea..." his voice trails off when he takes in Arielle's expression. "Ari? What's wrong?"

The Toreador settles into the seat. "Please...just drive. Go." Her voice is cracked and unsteady.

While Remy drives, Arielle frantically types on her phone. After several moments, she sets her phone in the center console and buries her head in her hands. At this unusual show of emotion from his mistress, the ghoul pulls into a half empty parking lot. "Ari, talk to me. For Christ's sake!" Bravely pulling her hands away from her face, he's shocked by what he sees. The Toreador's visage is in a rictus of dismay, her eyes desperate and as near tears as he's ever seen.

"They're dead, Remy. I think..." she gasps in an unneeded breath. "I think they're both dead."

The ghoul inquires as to whom, although his tone suggests that he already suspects the answer. "Cezaar and Jericho, both. The Lupine took Jericho after it almost dismembered me. And Lord Ash...that treacherous maniac...ordered a Bloodhunt on Mr. Azreahl. They beat him and set him on fire..." She once again picks up her phone, firing off a message. "...then he disappeared."

Remy looks confused. "Disappeared? As in 'poof' or as in..." He doesn't finish his sentence, imagining the worst.

She shrugs, at a loss. "Maybe...if Grendel..." She looks to her silent phone, helplessly. "I've been trying to contact him. When the Bloodhunt began, I asked..." shaking her head, almost ashamed. "No. I begged Grendel to help him. Cezaar. I couldn't. He forbade me from intervening in such a matter. I just stood by. I stood by as they beat him. I stood by as those monsters took Jericho." She shudders, her eyes distant. "Just like I stood by as they burned..."

Arielle's mind flashes back to the last night she was with her Sire. The secret of their bloodline had been exposed to the council, much like in the present. Majority opinion was not favorable, and the pair of them were condemned. At the crucial moment, Harkness cleared an escape plan for his childe. Crafting Arielle's features into someone unrecognizable, he ordered her to leave that very night.

She watched from the bloodthirsty crowd, blending in despite the lack of barbarous ferocity that lacked in her expression. Harkness was restrained, the fire beneath him lit. Before he turned to ash, his eyes met Arielle's in the crowd. The last sight was of his childe standing by, doing nothing as he burned...

Arielle comes back into the now...mostly. Remy's concern grows for her. "Ari, what are you going to do?" The ghoul is almost frightened by the blank, helpless look on his mistress's face.

"What -can- I do, Remy? I'm a disgraced Volgirre, bound to a Bloodhunted fugitive. I can't turn to Jericho, he's likely just as dead as Cezaar. Even Xanzer has turned away from Ash's reign. I'm on my own, and I can't...I can't.." Arielle's lamenting is interrupted by the chirping of her phone. She snatches it up, desperate for any sort of news. Remy watches as her face turns from hopeful to furious. "Sutherland. How DARE that Gangrel contact me after I watched him throttle Mr. Azreahl into torpor.. " She stares at the message a few moments longer, a strange expression on her face. She pulls the GPS up on her phone, punching an address in after glancing at the clock. When she speaks again, her voice retains some of it's normal dignity. "Go to this destination." The ghoul starts the car again without comment. They drive in an uncomfortable silence for the journey to Sutherland's garage. Once pulling up to the gate, Arielle speaks once more. "Wait here. One way or another, this won't take long." Remy holds back his vexation and watches his Mistress exit the vehicle, the only sound being the baying of dogs on the other side of the gate.

Three quarters of an hour later, Arielle returns to the hearse. "Home?" She nods, and he's relieved to see a hint of stony resolve in her face. "Was the Gangrel helpful?"

She seems to ponder this. "Perhaps. More helpful than harmful, at least. He'll have his uses."

Remy pulls the hearse into the driveway, as the security gate closes behind them. Once inside the Toreador's haven, he turns to Arielle, who's already resting cross-legged on the antique sofa, her laptop open on her lap. "Uses for what?"

She types vigorously for several minutes before answering. She looks up at the ghoul, her sea green eyes meeting the ghouls hazel ones. "For a mutiny." Remy seems surprised at his mistress's new ambition. "I've been weary of Lord Ash's reign since coming to this city." She smiles, almost wickedly. "Turns out I'm not the only one. Ideal, even, as I'd have no chance of over throwing him on my own. Always the brains, never the brawn...That's were Sutherland comes in." She types more and sends something online. "And others. Many others. Aurelia, Montano, Faith, Hanzel, Jeri..." She catches herself, mid sentence. The sorrow returns to her features as she removes a blade from her boot where she stashed it. It's Jericho's treasured knife. It sings to her, but she can barely hear it over her anguish. Despite the feverish excitement over a potential schism, one that will surely bring the prince from his throne, she still mourns her lovers. Without another word to the ghoul she sets the computer on the coffee table and disappears down the hallway to her bedroom.

When Remy checks on his mistress, less than an hour before dawn, he's confronted with no encouraging sight. Arielle reclines on the four poster bed, staring at fixed spot in the air. Once again, her neglect to feed shows in the gaunt pallidness upon her face and the bruised circles under her eyes. On the nightstand beside the bed rests the singing blade, her cell phone and a unrecognizable gold ring.

"Can I get you anything, Ari?" The ghoul speaks quietly, as if afraid she'll startle.

"No, Remy. I just need...time. A night to..." she looks at her phone, then back at nothing. "...mentally recuperate." Her own voice seems as devoid of life as her near-starved visage.

Remy starts to leave, but speaks again, unable to walk away with Arielle looking so desolate. "Would you like me to stay...with you."

Her stare snaps to Remy, and her answer is curt, although lacking the usual coldness she directs towards the ghoul. "No." He dips his head in a subservient bow to her, and exits the room. Some time later, pointedly avoiding looking towards the end of her bed, Arielle falls into a fitful, but healing day's sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

She stares at that one word among the jumbled letters and symbols on her phone.

'mommy'

One would think, given recent circumstances, that a text message with only one decipherable word wouldn't affect someone attempting to raise a battalion against the Prince of the city. Regardless, the Toreador's hand shows a tremor in it when she places her phone on the counter. "Someone is messing with me, that's it. I'm no one's mother." With those thoughts, her mind goes...elsewhere.

It wasn't until the squeal of tires and the shrill keening from young vocal cords, that Mrs. Olivia Norton even looked up from her work. With that sound, her eyes go wide and she rushes out into the yard. The offending van blocks any comforting or alarming view, but still a child's shrieks fill the air. The thoughts running through the mother's head move more quickly than the feet that pull her to the scene. Don't let it be Cadence. Don't let it be my daughter. Almost selfish, that thought. Since the hoping of one child to be alive is essentially the wishing of the other to be dead. Irrelevant, as once reaching the scene, there's no mistake in which parents are now childless. The woman almost trips over the blood spattered sandal on the trek to identify her daughter's crumpled and lifeless body. The features that looked so much like her are rendered almost unidentifiable by the unyielding asphalt it was dragged across. I can fix this. Cadence's young playmate is still screaming. What is she carrying on about?! She's alive. A quick slap from Mrs. Norton silences the girl, but not the gathering crowd, who's distaste for a mother's lack of anguish over her dead daughter only grows in capacity...

Funeral arrangements were made. Much to the distress of Mr. Norton, Olivia insisted on doing the reconstruction for Cadence's viewing. "No one could restore our daughter's beauty as well as I." His wife's words seem cold, calloused, and Mr. Norton has to turn away from her.

The altercation at the funeral. Weary of all the well wishers, prayers and condolences, she snaps at the mourner who offers the trite words: "I can't imagine what it's like to lose a child."

Olivia turns on the woman with a mixture of disgust and fury. "Why -would- you? Was it something you already attempted, for fun?"

Mr. Norton pulls his wife into one of the more private grieving rooms. "What is wrong with you? Our child lays in her coffin and you're antagonizing the people who are actually mourning her!"

Olivia's voice is level and calm as she responds. "Are you insinuating that I don't mourn my child?"

Mr. Norton releases his grip on her forearm, as if he can't stand the feel of her flesh against his. "You don't. You show no emotion other than pride for 'your work'. You're calloused, Olivia. You're..." He turns from her. "...as cold as one of your corpses."

Olivia Norton -in her grave for over forty years until very recently- now our Arielle Libitinarri, is drawn back into the present day by the voice of her ghoul. Remy inquires as to his mistress's well being. Knowing that lying to the boy would be useless -while obtuse in many ways, he can be irritatingly perceptive- she slides her phone across the counter for him to view. He reads the message with an unreadable expression, before looking to Arielle with concern. "What does this mean, Ari?"

The Toreador straightens her posture, looking stalwart despite the malnourished air that she's carried for the past month. "It means nothing. Just another attempt at throwing a wrench in my plans." She turns away from the ghoul's prying gaze. "I'm going out. To feed. I'll return shortly." She exits the room before Remy can call her out on what is obviously a lie. Feeling introspective, Arielle has no desire to unload what seems to be an endless list of burdens upon her ghoul. She drives with no destination in mind, and only the moon to hear of her woes.


End file.
